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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883084">Waiting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamOnToast/pseuds/JamOnToast'>JamOnToast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>pedro pascal character fics [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Triple Frontier (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, Other, gender neutral reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:21:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamOnToast/pseuds/JamOnToast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the last night before Frankie's last deployment. He doesn't want to break your heart, so you prove he doesn't have to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>pedro pascal character fics [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>also posted on my tumblr @pumpkin-stars</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>While they’re still in the forces, Frankie doesn’t like to date. Sure, when they’re overseas he’ll land on any available and willing runway, and when they’re home he might have a fling or two. But he always breaks those off before they’re deployed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not something he ever intended. But if you gave him a nickel for every time he’d come home to find his girl had moved on, he’d have two nickels. Not much, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>devastating</span>
  </em>
  <span> that it’s happened twice. He breaks things off. Makes it clear at the start, if the girl goes for him and not Will or Benny, it’s just for fun. No real commitment, just… a few months of fun, then nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want that heartbreak again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s not his only reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees Molly, when Tom turns his back. When their band of brothers leaves her, Pope’s latest squeeze, Benny’s girl of the season, and Ironhead’s long-term beau behind. He knows how much it hurts them. To worry every single second they’re gone that they won’t return. That they’ll get a knock on the door and a folded flag instead of a kiss and a hug and a welcome home fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees Will, as they leave for every mission, making sure the envelope with her name and address is on his pillow, a pre-stamped goodbye, an apology for not making it home. He doesn’t know if Redfly does the same, doubts it, and he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to cope if he ever found himself in that situation. He’d worry, constantly, that he wouldn’t make it back. And that would put him- and the whole team, the whole operation- in jeopardy. They need to focus, and he knows he wouldn’t be able to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That leads to more heartbreak. It’s not often, but sometimes, when he says no commitment… he still gets attached. Four nickels, he thinks, for those times. When he’s stopped things before he’s wanted to - broken things off with someone out of need, not desire. Stopping them from potential heartbreak of their own, letting them go without a fuss, so they don’t get that dreaded knock, the three volleys, and a box to stick in the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay unattached, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Stick to one night stands and rushed fumbles on base. Pope’s got a reputation, be like him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The difference between him and Santi is in the way they love. Santi does it quickly, dives straight in, at first sight. Fleeting, passionate, the kind of love that people remember for its intensity, not its length. Frankie loves slowly, cautious to the end. When he finds someone, he gives it his all, just as passionate as Pope’s, but less rushed. The kind of love nobody speaks of - intimate and insular, just for two. Santi can fuck his way through a squadron of skirts while Frankie still hangs on to the first, clutching the fabric in his hands as they slowly pull from his grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s heard of falling slowly. Drifting into love like a leaf on the wind, ups and downs and swirling around, tempestuous until that final moment of calm, settling in place and ready to rest until wrinkled and old. He dreams of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All six of those nickels never reached rest. Whether his fault or theirs, any calm that was felt was simply before a storm, the leaf washed away in a flood of water. Unpredictable, destructive, unavoidable, and dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s something different now. He’s sure of it. It’s been just shy of a decade in the force. He’s put in for discharge, has one more deployment left… They leave tomorrow. It’s been eight years since he had someone in his bed with him on these nights. And yet there you are. He’s loathe to cause you heartbreak… but terrified he won’t come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frankie?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts. He grunts, letting you know he’s heard. “I have something for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns his head, smiling faintly at you, drinking you in as you sit at the foot of the bed, clad only in one of his shirts. He spares a glance at the duffle bag in front of him (it’s been packed, unpacked, and repacked several times over the last forty eight hours), then moves across the room to sit beside you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something?” He raises an eyebrow, hopeful - one last time, right? He can get through that. Then wake up in the early hours with seven nickels in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that kind of something.” You laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest aches. He loves your laugh. Your smile, your presence, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>light</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s dark days ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” You lean away from him, grabbing something from under the bed, something he never even noticed. It’s a box. Not small, but not large.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down at it, curious, nervous, unsure of what you could possibly be giving him. You know it’s goodbye - he made it clear when you started fooling around, before you really knew each other, before he fell deep. A pebble in an ocean, pulled down into the depths, surrounded on all sides… spat back out months later, edges worn down, smoothed and changed by the tides… unrecognisable as the same blind and lonely man he was before he dived in head first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open it.” You urge, a hand on his back. The other reaches for his cap, taking the ratty thing from his head, the faded logo for his old college barely visible anymore. He’s still, making no move to open the box, so you move a hand to his hair - freshly cut to fit regulation, no curls to ruffle, but still so soft. The action is soothing, nonetheless. Habitual and comforting. It prompts him to lift the lid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A new cap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie stares at it silently. Then looks at you. And back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why-?” He starts, taking the cap from the box, the logo for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Standard Heating Oil</span>
  </em>
  <span> stares back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said not to get attached.” His head snaps up to look at you. “You said things would end before you deployed again. Frankie… I don’t want this to end. I don’t want you to break my heart prematurely. I’ll miss you - worry about you - whether you end things or not. I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love me?” He whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’ll never stop. You can’t get rid of me easily, Morales.” You cup his cheek, staring into his eyes. “I’ll wait for you. Every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I don’t come home?” He feels small. Scared. His heart beats in his ears, a racing thunderous beat. A storm rolling in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll miss you every day. Love you. Wait for a chance to see you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to be hung up on me.” He shakes his head. “If I don’t make it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think of it differently.” You smile, “In the last few months I think we’ve got to know each other quite well. I know you’ll worry about me. I know you’ll overthink what could happen if you never come home. But you’ll keep fighting. You’ll fight </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you figure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because this time you’ve got something to come home to. And unlike those others, I’m not going anywhere. You’re it for me, Francisco Morales. I’ll wait however long I have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>----</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been eleven years since Santi’s seen his best friend without his college cap. But this new one looks good. He’s sure, undoubtedly, that this one will be worn until it’s falling apart and fraying at the seams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been eight years since any of the guys have seen him bring anyone to the airstrip. But this smile looks good. It’ll be worn, undoubtedly, etched permanently on his face until he falls apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no wind today. No storm on the horizon. Just an easy calm that settles over him. You’re right - he’s got you to come home to, and that makes him more determined to survive. He’ll count the days until he’s home and, for the first time in a long time, he’ll come home happy. You’re waiting for him, missing him, worrying about him… and loving him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few months, that’s all. And then you’ll wait the days out together, resting until wrinkled and old.</span>
</p>
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